The Rescue
by Kayte98
Summary: Post Empire of Storms. Rowan finally finds Aelin after eight months of searching for her since she was taken by Maeve. What he finds brings him to his knees. First posting, feedback would be much appreciated. Completed part of a larger work.


Rowan barreled down a flight of stairs, his magic reaching out around him drifting down the stairs to the halls beyond searching and probing. There, a familiar scent slammed against his shield and Rowan felt the Fae male stumbling back.

Cairn.

Rowan was a force to be reckoned with as he descended the final steps into a long dark hallway with iron doors spanning either side. He felt his magic recoil from them but he did not allow it to falter as he barreled his phantom wind into Cairn trapping him against the wall at the end of the hall.

Cairn was laughing, a deep sadistic laughter as Rowan let loose a vicious snarl and wrapped his ice-covered hands around Goldryn's hilt and pressed the blade to the bastard's throat.

"Where is she?" Rowan growled as he pushed the blade into Cairn's neck further and blood trailed.

"That bitch is dead!" Cairn screeched, his words barely above a whisper.

 _Lies_. He would have felt it.

Then, he felt another presence coming up behind him and Rowan turned with a roar, his teeth bared as every instinct told him to fight, to kill.

The roar ebbed away as Lorcan's scent drifted up to him and he made out his upraised palms in the darkness. Lorcan slowly and cautiously approached despite Rowan's outburst and calmly said "Let me handle this piece of shit, Rowan. Go. Find her."

With that, Rowan ripped the air from Cairn's lungs and watched as he crumpled to the ground choking and tearing at his throat with his hands. Lorcan took up his place with his own blade, a look of death in his eyes.

Good. Lorcan would make sure the bastard suffered. He deserved nothing less.

Then Rowan sheathed Goldyrn and instead took out his dagger and pressed it into the skin of his forearm, sliding the blade along as he hissed through his teeth. Blood welled over his arm and he stuck his finger in it and went to the first door on his right and began working his way down either side of the hall writing the _unlocking_ wyrdmark in his blood. One after another he drew the mark, kicked the door in and one after another the cells were empty.

A rage began to build inside him as he neared the stairs. Only two doors left. He once again dipped his finger into his blood and drew the lines of the wyrdmark over the iron door. The latch gave, and Rowan barreled through the door- and stopped.

His dagger clattered to the floor with a sharp clang and Rowan's heart stopped in his chest, his breath caught in his throat.

He had prepared himself to see her hurt. He knew Cairn's ways. He knew that the Aelin he found may be marred and scarred in ways that would make him sick to his stomach. But this... gods this he hadn't prepared for.

She was lying, curled up in a puddle of her own blood. Her back was a mess of blood and flesh and scars so wicked it hardly resembled skin. Her naked body was a patchwork of wounds and bruises. Her once shining golden blonde hair was now dull, matted, and stained with blood. Iron chains hung around her ankles, her wrists, her neck. And her face, her beautiful face, that face that haunted his dreams these past nine months was hidden beneath an ornate iron mask that clasped behind her head.

But all that, all that was not what had his guts churning. All that wasn't what had his blood boiling to the point where his vision was tinted with red. No, what had him laced with rage and agony was her distended stomach, her enlarged breasts and a scent so strange that warped with the scent of his Fireheart. A scent that was a bit of hers, a bit of his own, and something else entirely, a scent that was now faint.

The realization hit him like a brick wall as he dropped to his knees.

She had been pregnant.

She had given birth to his child.

Given birth to their child in a gods damn cell.

A sound broke through his chest so guttural and so full of rage and agony he swore the whole world could hear it.

No wonder Maive wasn't here. She didn't need to stay and break Aelin into her weapon when she had a new one to forge and wield. His child. Rage didn't cover what he felt.

Slowly, painfully slowly he crawled to her. With the last of the blood on his arms, he unlocked her chains. Then he carefully peeled that god forsaken mask off her face. She was unconscious. Her breaths coming in shaky gasps. Her eyes were surrounded by deep violet circles, her cheekbones even more pronounced.

Careful to avoid what wounds he could, he gathered her in his arms, her scent wrapping around him like a blanket. At long last, his wife was in his arms. He slowly rose to his feet and as swiftly as he could, he took her up the stairs, through the halls, and out of the mountain. The only sounds he heard were that of Cairn's screams as Lorcan made him pay.

It would never be enough.

...

Rowan watched Aelin's sleeping form as she slowly began to stir. He imagined it wouldn't be long until she woke. He had brought her to their camp they had set up the night before, laying her down on a makeshift bed of hay and bedrolls. Then little by little, he had begun to heal her wounds.

He focused on her back first, seeping the infection from the deep slash marks slowly knitting her skin back together. There was one so deep he could see the white of bone. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over as he healed that one.

Gently he reached up to caress her face sliding his thumb over her too pronounced cheek bone and along her jaw. Carefully he traced the shape of her bloodless lips. He couldn't take his eyes off the wicked deep purple bruise along the other side of her jaw.

Gods what had they done to her? And where was there child? Did he have a son? A daughter? Would he ever know? He tried, he tried so damn hard to push the thoughts away. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. That day on the ship when he thought she was pregnant he had been truly terrified. It seemed like so long ago. But that day he also knew that he wanted everything with Aelin. Wanted to make her his wife, wanted to share her royal bed, and create life with her.

But it wasn't supposed to happen this way.

He prayed that somehow, someway, Aelin would be okay. That the woman he loved was still in there, still fighting.

As Gavriel and Lorcan finally approached their camp Rowan took the cloak from his shoulders and gently wrapped it around her naked body.

He then bit down his instinct to protect his mate from potential harm as his cadre kneeled beside him and then worked together to heal the rest of her wounds. Silence fell over them.

Lorcan had seen his fair share of torture. Over the centuries he'd been alive he'd done his fair share of it and received it too. But this.. shit this was something else.

He had never really liked the queen. Before he often caught himself wishing her dead, wishing someone would shut that ever so snarky mouth of hers. But now he was praying to the gods that she would open her eyes, that somehow despite all this, she would be Aelin.

The look in Whitethorn's eyes was complete and utter agony. He told them she had been pregnant, had given birth recently though they could all smell it on her. Over and over Whitethorn kept murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Lorcan was wrecked with guilt. Not only had he failed to protect Whitethorn's mate, but now the life of their child was on his head too. He was a fool. Gods he was a fool. Whitethorn would never forgive him for this. He would never forgive himself for this. Elide would never forgive him...

He tried to block out the thoughts as he laid his hands over a deep burn on Aelin's thigh. Rowan tried to keep her covered as best as he could while they healed her but her wounds were everywhere. Wounds over her breasts, her stomach, all down her legs. He thought the girl had a lot of scars when he first met her, but it was nothing compared to this. Stab wounds, cuts, burns. As they healed they all left patchworks of scars.

But the real wounds would not be the ones that bled. Every second she remained unconscious would surely be a blessing for her. Then, as if she could sense his thoughts, he heard Rowan's sharp intake of breath as the Queen of Terrasen opened her eyes.

...

She was in a dream.

It had been so long since she dreamed of light, she thought for sure she'd forgotten what it felt like. She had been in the dark for as long as she could remember.

Time stopped having meaning. Had it been months? Years? How long had she been in the dark?

In her dream there was light, and there was pain. She always dreamt of pain. Her life was never-ending pain. Her body was a distant thing she wished she could just be free of.

Something else pulled at her dreams too. Pine-green eyes. She tried to remember the source of those eyes, tried to remember why they mattered so much.

Sounds pulled at her, mumblings and murmurs of deep voices. God she knew what that meant. More pain to come.

Pain pain pain.

So much pain.

 _Aelin, Aelin, please. I'm so sorry. You're okay, you're safe now._

 _Can she even see us?_

 _Fireheart, please. Look at me._

 _Rowan, she might not be in there. She might not-_

A growl shuddered around her. The murmuring stopped. That word, _Aelin_ , it tugged something in her. What was it?

She couldn't remember.

Slowly the blinding light began to die away, things took shapes, forms, colors.

Silver.

Then there were eyes right in front of her own bearing into her. Tear-filled and in agony and green... pine-green eyes.

A memory pulled her so hard she gasped. Something else with those green eyes. _Someone_ else. Her little bird. Her little bird who had kept her safe- kept her healed and alive and fighting. Her little bird that she had held in her arms. A child.

Her child.

And as that memory filled her head, she spoke, grounding out each word, her voice like gravel and sandpaper from so long of screaming.

"She... had.. your... eyes."

And then, as if the words utterly exhausted her, she slipped back into unconsciousness.

...

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stumbled back- like they'd really hit him.

 _She. She. She._

He had a daughter.

They had a daughter.

Wherever Maive was, she had better be counting her rudding days because when he found her he would rip her to shreds. He would bathe in her blood. He would tear this whole world apart bit by bit until he found her.

Instincts he never knew he had were rising to the surface with his rage. A need to protect, cherish. His daughter. He realized with perfect raging clarity that any that so much as sidestepped into his path to her would die a brutal death.

Then he felt a sharp tug in his chest. His mating bond, but something more, something that twined its way along the bond as strong as steel snapping into place. With all his will, with the strength of his magic, he sent a thought down that bond, a bond between him and his daughter.

 _We are coming for you._

...


End file.
